


Owned, Hopeful

by Cesare, helens78



Series: World Domination [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Collars, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Licking, M/M, Master/Slave, Mind Control, Rough Sex, licking come off the body, telepathic painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles rules over everyone in Genosha, including the man who used to rule <em>him</em>.  The tables are long since turned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Owned, Hopeful

**Author's Note:**

> We've been posting bits and pieces of what we've been calling the "World Domination" AU on Tumblr for months ([Helens's tag](http://helens78.tumblr.com/tagged/world+domination), [Cesare's tag](http://codenamecesare.tumblr.com/tagged/World-Domination-AU)), but when we ran across [this prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/7736.html?thread=14951736#t14951736) on the kinkmeme, we just stared at it. It really is the WD!verse in a nutshell! So we finished cleaning up the first scene (well, the first scene written, anyway; obviously much more has come before this in the history of the 'verse) and posted it. Thanks to the anon prompter for giving us the motivation! ^_^

These are the finest days of summer, when the sun stays lifted in the sky for hours and hours, past eight and nine and stretching toward ten. Charles sits on the balcony with a chilled glass of Auslese, taking in the sunset and watching his people moving through the streets, four stories below him. This month he's got them in brand-new uniforms, everyone wandering around in blue. It's orderly, his version of this society, much neater than it was under its last two rulers. He approves.

He's long since taken off his jacket, and there was never a necktie to begin with; he's got the sleeves of his white dress-shirt rolled up to the elbows, his black vest unbuttoned along with the top three buttons of his shirt. As he leans back in his chair and lifts his feet, settling them on the chair opposite his, he takes another sip of wine. The clocktower in the east should be chiming ten any moment now; life really is almost _too_ sweet.

Just as he's thinking that, the clocktower's bells start their customary on-the-hour chime, notes rising and falling. Charles closes his eyes and tilts his face up, breathing deeply. It's a beautiful night.

«I'm ready, Charles,» comes a thought from inside the bedroom, «just as you wanted me.»

Charles stays as he is for another few seconds, finally licking his lips and setting his wineglass down as he steps back inside. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light in the bedroom; the curtains have been drawn and the lamp at the bedside is turned down low. Even so, he knows Erik was telling the truth when he said he was ready. He doesn't need to see Erik to know that.

But it doesn't stop him from looking. He wanders toward the bed, toeing out of his shoes when he gets there, then climbing onto the bed, settling down just within reach. Erik's stretched out on his stomach, head pilowed on his folded arms, gauzy white sheet draped artfully across his ass so that the upper curve of it and those ridiculous dimples of his are free to be seen-- and touched, although Charles doesn't. Not yet.

The broad muscles of Erik's shoulders taper down to a narrow waist that Charles sometimes believes he could span with both his hands if he tried; he's thought about putting Erik in a corset and pulling it as tightly as he could, just to see how narrow he could force that waist of his to be. He hasn't, so far, but maybe he will someday.

He's clean-shaven, because Charles prefers it, but his hair's grown a little messy since the early days of their... association. Once it was up to Charles, he had Erik grow his hair out just to the point where it starts to curl, just enough to get a grip on. It's not even long enough to cover his collar, which is, of course, the only ornament on Erik's body right now. When they're alone, it's usually the only thing Charles allows Erik to wear at all.

It's silvery-pale in this light, an alloy of vibranium and adamantium steel; Charles could have had one made from primarily ceramic components, leaving the barest traces of metal for Erik to touch and conceivably destroy, but the irony amuses Charles. Better, Charles knows exactly what it does to Erik to be trapped behind a metal collar; he knows what it does to Erik having that delicious band of metal around his throat at all times. He knows what happens to Erik when Charles touches Erik's collar, or tugs on it, and so Charles reaches up now, resting his hand heavily on the back of Erik's neck, thumb rubbing back and forth against the collar.

Erik moans softly, hips pressing harder against the bed, the muscles of his ass flexing and tightening as he makes the motion. Charles reaches out with the barest fraction of his ability, and whispers, «No.»

With that, Erik relaxes again, going perfectly still beneath Charles's hand. The only motions are a slight rise and fall of his chest, along with his breath. Charles could take that away from him, too, but he won't-- not today, not right now.

Right now he's got other things in mind, and he drives his consciousness into Erik's mind, taking Erik's memory of the last few minutes before he came to bed. He could be gentle, he's more than deft enough for that, but instead he's going in sharp as a knife, a hot knife, the blade nearly red with heat.

Under his hand, Erik trembles; unable to press his cock against the sheets, Erik's still growing harder by the moment. Charles smiles.

He sifts through Erik's memories, taking his time with it. It might cause Erik some discomfort, but his erection's proof enough that the discomfort is just another way Charles has found to exploit Erik's masochism and make him ever more thoroughly his own. It really is a wonderful, wonderful life.

Erik's too; Charles has gone to considerable enough effort to provide him with creature comforts, asking so little in return. And tonight Erik's performed admirably, following his nightly directions to the letter. A thorough shower, which left his hair just the slightest bit damp at the root, and which makes him smell like soft clean soap. From the scent, it's that Marseille variety Charles found for him that Erik likes so much-- a consort should have a few indulgences. After the shower, a good vigorous rub with one of their soft golden towels, the texture pleasant against Erik's skin. Then the lotion, thin and light, rubbed carefully all over his body-- this, done in front of a full-length mirror, so Charles could see Erik's vision of himself in the memory. The vision is laced with a strong sense of questioning, _do you like what you see, Charles? does it please you as much looking at me as it always pleases me to look at you?_

He's gotten better at that, leaving messages for Charles in his memory. Charles tightens his grip on the back of Erik's neck. For now, that's fine; the messages are innocent enough. In the future, he might have different thoughts.

But now that they're through the memory of the body lotion, they're on to a more interesting part of the nighttime preparations. Erik opens a drawer in the bathroom and touches a finger to the first lube there, thick and slippery; his mind stretches out to touch Charles's, with a soft question to it, the image of this tentative selection. Charles remembers this half of it, getting the question while he sat on the balcony; he remembers his curt, wordless rejection. Erik makes another choice, a thinner lube that lasts much longer than the first. That one gets Charles's approval, and Erik takes it out, slicking his fingers and walking back to the full-length mirror, where he spreads his legs apart and braces himself with his opposite forearm against the glass. He stares into his own eyes as he presses his fingers into his body, his mouth falling open with pleasure as he does it. The emotion here isn't a breadcrumb meant to lead Charles to a message, it's just raw and pure, what Erik was feeling in the moment. _Desire._

Charles's fingers flex and squeeze against the back of Erik's neck, find a surer grip over both neck and collar. «You're hungry for it tonight.»

«Every night,» Erik sends back. «Always.»

«And if I wanted to get myself off, paint your back with it, leave you here alone while it cooled and dried...?»

«I'd lie here hurting until the need wore down. And then I'd lie here grateful.»

He's telling the truth. Always the truth. Sometimes Charles thinks that's Erik's greatest weapon, magnetism be damned.

That or his body, the hold he has on Charles with his long, elegant limbs and his beautifully-toned torso and those _fucking_ dimples at the top of his ass. Charles pulls away, all at once, and starts taking his clothes off, turning Erik's head to face away from him so he doesn't even get the reward of watching Charles undress. It should, really should, earn him a mental spike of distress. It doesn't. Tonight Erik's being very patient.

And Charles feels anything but patient, not now, not about this. «Tell me. Directly. How it felt, prepping yourself for me.» His buttons-- there are so many of them, too many.

«It felt good,» Erik offers. «I felt... the same way I always feel, doing it for you. Owned.» He pauses, and then adds, «hopeful. I hoped it was going to lead to you, with me, in me... please, Charles...»

Out of his clothes, finally, _God_ , it takes so long. Charles climbs back onto the bed and drapes himself over Erik. He presses his mouth to the back of Erik's neck and sucks at the skin there, just above Erik's collar; when he feels Erik's lust tumble through him, urgent enough to make Erik wish he could move, Charles bites down.

«Tell me how it _felt_ ,» Charles insists, bites getting harder as he moves back and forth across the back of Erik's neck. «How it feels,» and he kicks down the sheet and presses his hand between Erik's legs, sliding his fingers inside Erik with an audible groan.

Erik groans, too, but inside Charles's head. Charles releases Erik from that hold, letting Erik give voice to his moans and letting him squirm beneath Charles's hand. Erik swallows hard, recovering from the shock of all that freedom, and gathers his thoughts to give Charles the answer he demanded.

«Oh... like I'm... yours, all yours... yes, yes, your hands... your fingers, so good, want more, please, more, please, move your fingers for me... in me... do you want me to show you how shameless I am for you? Just you, only you...» It's more than Charles was expecting, though he should never have underestimated Erik's capacity for wanton abandon; Erik arches his back and then presses his ass against Charles's hand. "Only you."

Charles bites Erik's neck, reaching up to tug the collar down so there's more room to do it. "I should turn you out just so you have less of a-- an ego about your place in my bed." _And why shouldn't he when you all but slip, tell him how deep his hold on you goes?_ Charles pulls his hand back, and Erik grunts, but he'll be doing a lot more than grunting in a moment. "You should be grateful I let you get ready; if you were or not, I wasn't going to wait." And he lines up and slides home in one hard thrust, his grip on Erik's hip rough and tight, his nails digging in.

The groan Erik gives him is beautiful, laced with desperation and a little pain-- he's still sore from the last time. It should be proof that Charles owns him completely, but sometimes Charles thinks Erik takes it as a sign that Charles can't resist him, can't bear to let a day go by without touching him. Erik's pleased enough by all this, too pleased, loving the roughness Charles brings to bear on him. If Charles put a hand on his cock, he'd find his fingers and his palm slick with Erik's precome, he just knows it. Charles fucks him harder, trying to get Erik's thoughts to loosen, seize on something other than the pleasure Charles is giving him. He could do it easily enough with his mind. It's more of a challenge to do it with his body.

Erik's thoughts do slip as Charles pounds into him, but they're heading back for Charles's words from a moment ago. "Turn--" he puts his teeth together and grunts through the pain, God, Charles could listen to that sound forever, "me... out, is it... you want... to watch... others... have me?"

It's not an empty threat. Charles could do it, could line up a dozen of his more useless subjects, let them all have a turn. He _could_.

He could kill them all after, one-by-one, lancing his thoughts into their minds and watching them crumple to the ground, with _mine_ as the last thing that traveled through their brains.

Erik takes a breath, and then pushes his thoughts forward. «I'd do it, take them for you, send you my thoughts as they all fucked me, as I thought about how thoroughly you owned me...»

Every inch of him, Charles owns every inch of him, and yet right now he can't do all the things he'd like. All the things Erik could do, easily-- Charles remembers so many nights of Erik completely covering him with his body, fucking him and still able to bite his neck, nip at his ear. He could _reach_ , and Charles can't. He wants to be able to touch Erik everywhere at once, and has to settle for fucking him hard as he can, planting both palms in the small of Erik's back over those dimples that have driven him crazy from the start, even when he was still terrified and Erik's slave-- pressing down on Erik's absurdly slim waist and slamming into him over and over.

And all Erik does is beg.

«Yes, yes, don't stop, don't stop-- break me, I can take it, let me take it and beg you for more--» There's nothing in his mind now but Charles, this fuck, the pain, how close he is to getting off. He gets his arms under him and strains to push back against Charles's increasingly punishing pace, and starts begging out loud instead of just sending out his thoughts in a cascade of desperation. "Charles-- oh--" All that want roughens Erik's voice, colors his tone; he never sounds better than when he's begging. "Charles, yes, yes, please, please..."

Charles drives into him again and then holds still; Erik lets out a long, high keening sound, so desperate, _all mine_. «Should I let you come tonight? Do you really think you deserve it?»

Deliciously, Erik actually whimpers. This is no idle threat. They're not _lovers_ , and this isn't a lover's tease; Charles has left Erik used and wanting before.

So it's no wonder that Erik steps up the begging, giving it to Charles out loud so Charles can hear the ragged hoarse tones of Erik's voice. "Please! Please, yes, please let me... so good, you feel so good, please, please, let me... I'll... whatever you want from me..."

Charles draws back and gives Erik another fierce thrust. Pleasant as the begging is, it's almost better when it stops-- driving Erik beyond the point of words is a satisfaction all its own.

His thoughts are a mental whisper, so soft that Erik holds his breath and strains to perceive it. «If I let anyone else have you, you'd do it, you wouldn't have a choice, but you'd hate every second of it, you'd want it to be me--»

Erik's mind comes roaring back into his, Erik's teeth digging into his lower lip as he stifles a cry. He should know better, he's not allowed to do that, but what he's _saying_ \-- «all of them, they should all be you, no one should be touching me but you, no one should be touching you but me, oh God, let me, let me hate it for you, love it for you,» his emotions so wrecked, shot through with rage and pain and love; Charles can't resist that tangle, not when it's _his_ , when Erik's his beyond all possibility of hope or escape.

He drives in again, faster now, his body pushing Erik's to both their limits. «Love serving you,» Erik thinks, panting, «this is what I wanted as far back as that first time and you knew it, you knew it...»

«Yes, _yes,_ now come for me,» he slides one hand up the line of Erik's spine as if he's physically sending the charge up Erik's nerves, pushing him to a towering, painful climax-- just in time, coming himself with a rattling gasp, as much from the thrill of exerting that much control as anything.

Erik almost screams as he goes over, barely holding the sound in; it really is almost agony for him, coming that way, his body kept on edge til Charles forces the orgasm. Charles is never shy about overwhelming him with that mental push.

When Erik comes down from it he's panting, drenched in sweat and trapped under Charles's body and so, so grateful. But still, somehow, he's thinking of how he wants Charles under him again, Charles's beautiful throat in a collar that Erik can lick and bite at while he's driving into Charles, again and again and again until tears spill over his cheeks.

«Two years,» Charles responds to those thoughts. «You had enough of that.» He pulls out of Erik's body roughly and cleans himself up, leaving Erik as he is.

Erik hisses when Charles leaves him, clenching his fists. «I could never have had enough. And neither could you.»

«You're selling yourself short.» Charles slaps his backside, watches the way Erik rises to the blow, going up on his knees, his hips tilted, inviting another. So eager. «You're perfect like this.»

"I'm sorry, I forgot; I'm supposed to wait until the afterglow's gone to remember rolling you over," Erik says. "The way you used to swallow me down and moan while I fucked your throat, and afterward, without your telepathy, you'd have to whisper to beg for more. Please, go on, beat me for the insolence."

«Aren't you lucky that I have it back? I don't have to wait for you to ask. I _know_ you always want it.» Charles waves his hand showily, and he uses his power to find Erik's memory of a flogging and give the sensation to him again.

It's as real for Erik as if it were happening now-- the biting pain of the leather knots, the slap of the falls, the sting of the tips against his skin. Erik jerks forward in spite of himself, hands splaying out flat to catch himself on the bed. He's panting already.

Charles gets back into bed and settles against the headboard, beckoning. «Bring the show over here.» He moves Erik to crouch over him, while Charles stuffs pillows behind him and lounges back comfortably, hands folded behind his head. Feeding Erik pain this way is easy, now. He's had so much practice.

Within moments, Erik's arching into every blow, sweating even more than earlier, and despite his recent orgasm, Charles scarcely has to goose his nervous system at all to help along his erection. Erik looks into his eyes, no attempt to hide that desperation. He's changed so much from the man who couldn't bear to admit he craved this. His mind is wide open to Charles, and he's thinking, «Yes. Yes, don't stop, don't stop...»

Caressing Erik's face, Charles says softly, "I won't." He determines every second of this, every iota of sensation, and he ramps Erik up toward a less punishing orgasm, something that will feel well-earned and genuinely satisfying, for a change. He focuses on that and releases Erik from his direct control; he doesn't need to hold him any more.

Erik rests his face against Charles's shoulder, moaning, so hard already and aching for the pain, even if it's illusory. The orgasm drives into him like a wave, pushing him past all hope of coming down from the spiral of the first climax. Charles can almost feel the neurons firing together in Erik's brain, connecting with each other: the pleasure, the pain, the urge to give Charles whatever he wants. Charles doesn't have to force it. It's happening on its own.

Erik labors to catch his breath. "...thank... thank you." «Thank you.»

Charles strokes his damp hair back off his brow. «You see? We're so much better off this way.» He's feeling generous; he waits til Erik's stopped shaking before he dips his fingers into the spunk streaking Charles's stomach, and slides them into Erik's mouth. «Go on. Clean me up.»

Very nearly docile now, Erik licks Charles's fingers thoroughly, getting them clean and wet and then sucking them, gently at first, then hollowing his cheeks out around them.

«That's it. So lovely.» Charles hooks his fingers behind Erik's bottom teeth and guides him down, slips them out and draws his wet fingers up his smeared skin. «And the rest.»

All the arrogance and smugness and thoughts of Charles beneath him long gone, Erik crawls down and presses a kiss to Charles's solar plexus before beginning to lick him clean, in tiny small gentle flicks, turning slowly into longer, curvier ones, twists and turns with the flat of his tongue, moaning as he tastes himself and Charles mingled together, perfectly, mindlessly content.

"I love how you love this," Charles says. "Erik, it was always meant to be like this. I know you see that, deep down."

«I see it tonight,» Erik thinks. «Can you let that be enough?»

"For now." He could tell Erik to move; he could tell Erik to do anything, after all that, and Erik would do it willingly. But he does it himself, using his power to stretch Erik out on his back next to him. Charles curls up along his side, pillowing his head on Erik's chest.

Erik relaxes of his own accord, a soft hum in his throat. «You do know, don't you? I love you just as much this way as I did then.»

«I know.» Charles closes his eyes, his triumph ebbing away. Someday, he'll finally pay back every moment of fear and pain and betrayal that Erik ever put him through. Someday the scales will come into balance, and he'll be able to forgive Erik, or just learn how not to care.

Charles is in power, now. He has everything he could ever want. He has control. He has peace. He has Erik, body, mind and soul.

It's enough. For now.


End file.
